"What do you have to give us, Tyrion son of Tywin?" asked the one who named himself Gunthor, who seemed to be their chief.
"There is silver in my purse," Tyrion told them. "This hauberk I wear is large for me, but it should fitConn nicely, and the battle-axe I carry would suit Shagga’s mighty hand far better than that wood-axe he holds."
"The halfman would pay us with our own coin," said Conn.
"Conn speaks truly," Gunthor said. "Your silver is ours. Your horses are ours. Your hauberk and your battle-axe and the knife at your belt, those are ours too. You have nothing to give us but your lives. How would you like to die, Tyrion son of Tywin?"
"In my own bed, with a belly full of wine and a maiden’s mouth around my cock, at the age of eighty," he replied.
The huge one, Shagga, laughed first and loudest. The others seemed less amused. "Conn, take their horses," Gunthor commanded. "Kill the other and seize the halfinan. He can milk the goats and make the mothers laugh.
Bronn sprang to his feet. "Who dies first?"
"No!" Tyrion said sharply. "Gunthor son of Gurn, hear me. My House is rich and powerful. If the Stone Crows will see us safely through these mountains, my lord father will shower you with gold."